


i didn't come here to party (i only came for the cake)

by ossapher



Series: ready, aim, flour [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Great British Bake Off Fusion, Baked Goods, Gen, Pretentious cupcakes, sweet and fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-29 23:46:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12096054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ossapher/pseuds/ossapher
Summary: When John's sulking after a cupcake disaster, the last person he wants to talk to is America's perfect sweetheart, Eliza Schuyler. But Eliza has a plan to turn this miserable day around... (Gen)





	i didn't come here to party (i only came for the cake)

About ten minutes after the cameras have stopped rolling, John finally stirs from what Lafayette nicknamed the Sprawl of Defeat. Groaning a little as his joints shift—old man knees in his twenties, is there anything in his life that _isn’t_ fucked?—he hauls himself up to face the countertop. The Mistake stares back at him. Just looking at it makes his whole body clench in mortification.

 _Calm the fuck down, John_ , he scolds himself. Though going off the rest of the room, he’s not the only one taking this week hard. Alex has long since scrubbed the floury, cocoa powdery mess from his countertop and is now, from the looks of it, trying to strip the varnish off the wood. Maria’s still wiping the tears from her eyes and trying to convince everyone they’re from the jalapeños she unwisely decided to put in her cupcakes. Well, they’d known the judges would be getting harsher as the season went on. Doesn’t quiet the criticisms still echoing in John’s ears.

He doesn’t want to look at the Mistake anymore. With a snarl of frustration, he picks up the display plate and moves to toss the whole thing in the trash.

Another hand appears under the plate, preventing the Mistake from sliding off into the sweet escape of oblivion or, failing that, at least the dump.

“What are you doing, John?”

Of all the people he doesn’t want to talk to right now. Eliza. Eliza, who’s always so sweet and so positive, even to Alex when he’s melting down and pacing the length of the entire tent and chanting directions under his breath so loudly even John wants to slap him. _Nobody’s_ that nice. John doesn’t know what her angle is. Probably playing up the America’s sweetheart thing for the cameras. John much prefers her sister, who is here to dominate and lets everybody know it.

“What does it look like,” he snaps. “I’m throwing it away.”

“But why?”

She’s still blocking his way to the trash can, and as much as his id would like to slam dunk the Mistake in over her outstretched arm, he has a little more self-control than that.

Unfortunately he uses up all his self-control avoiding that temptation, because he answers truthfully. “Because I…it’s just awful. The judges said my flavors were elitist. That my bake was too high-concept for the challenge.”

“And they said mine was _boring_ ,” Eliza replies. “Do you know how much that stings? To be called boring?”

John…John honestly doesn’t know. Nobody’s ever called him that. “Okay, one, the idea for the hint of lime to complement the strawberry was brilliant and it’s just a shame they couldn’t taste it. And two…they weren’t calling you boring…just—just your cupcakes. And next week you’ll know to get the lime to come through or whatever and you’ll be interesting.”

“And next week you’ll know to be…a little more populist, I guess,” Eliza says, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. “We live and learn.”

“I’ll put bacon in it,” John resolves. “Don’t know what it is yet, but I’ll put bacon in it.”

Eliza laughs. She steps forward, still supporting the Mistake with one hand, and John’s forced to step back until they’re back at his countertop. Gently, Eliza lowers the Mistake back to solid ground.

“What do you see here, John?” she asks.

“Uh… a Mistake.” That’s pretty fucking obvious, isn’t it?

“That’s funny, because I see a tray of cupcakes.”

John rolls his eyes. “Yeah. I made the batter with Earl Grey with extra bergamot with cognac vanilla icing and hint-of-lavender vanilla cream filling… _for a fucking cupcake_. What was I thinking?”

“You know, kids these days have very refined taste,” Eliza says, absently picking up one of John’s cupcakes. “Simple strawberry doesn’t cut it anymore.”

John laughs.

“And I guess I must be a little elitist myself,” she says, “because I’m going to eat this.”

“It’s you or the trash,” John says, spreading his arms wide, and winces. “I mean. No offense.”

“None taken,” Eliza grins. “This is tasty.”

That lifts John’s spirits. They lift further when Maria drifts over and tries one, too. Because he still feels like punishing himself a little he tries one of hers _(more a muffin than a cupcake, I’m afraid_ , the judge had said, _to say nothing of the Scoville rating_ ), but once he gets over the burn… “Damn, Maria. I can’t believe you got this texture with cornflour. And the honey’s really good.”

Maria blushes, lowering her chin modestly until her hair escapes from behind her ear and falls over her face. The camera guys are always on her about that. She startles when Eliza leans over to tuck it back.

 _Holy fuck_ , John thinks. The cameras are all off. This girl’s the real thing.

“Sorry,” Eliza murmurs, “I just…”

“Can I try yours?” Maria cuts in. “I actually love strawberries.”

Eventually even Alex joins them, and everybody tries everybody else’s cupcakes. The chocolate in Alex’s is so intense it makes John break out in a sweat (the judges had called his _too close-textured_ ), although Maria and Eliza heap praise on them.

But the fact of the matter is that they each made 36 cupcakes, and there are only four of them left in the tent: Angelica’s been whisked off to do her triumphant interview and Burr’s already packed up his things and left the tent for the last time in stoic silence.

( _It’s clear that your technical foundation is solid_ , one judge had said, _but it’s not quite clear to me, in the broader sense, that you know what you’re doing here._ And John, at the next table over, had felt a cold flood of anxiety down his spine.)

“What are we gonna do with all these?” Maria asks, gesturing at the rows—and, in Alex’s case, pyramids—of cupcakes before them. She’s found the bottle of cognac and the four of them are passing it between them, taking deep swigs to drown their lingering nerves.

“There’s a soup kitchen just around the corner from here where I volunteer,” Eliza says. “I’m sure they’d love to have them.”

“Oh, shit, you were playing the long game,” John blurts. He… he maybe was hitting the cognac a little earlier, too. Everyone else ignores him. “Knew you had some devion in you. Devi—devnessious.”

“Wow,” Alex says, giving Eliza a moon-eyed look. “You volunteer at a soup kitchen?”

 _Someone’s easily impressed_ , John thinks. Eliza at least has the decency to look embarrassed.

“I know that soup kitchen,” Maria puts in.

“Oh, wow, do you volunteer too? I haven’t seen you!” Eliza beams.

Maria turns red. “I… I haven’t gone lately. Anyway. It’s a great idea.”

“So we’re going?” Alex asks.

John’s already piling cupcakes, with limited success. He tries to make a pyramid of Maria’s, but one of them topples to the ground.

“God _fucking_ —”

“Five second rule!” Maria, Eliza, and Alex all cry at once, and dive for it simultaneously. Eliza and Alex bump heads, both staggering back, but Maria’s the victor: she scoops the muffin up practically before it hits the floor and stuffs it into her mouth in one swoop. She rights herself, chipmunk cheeks bulging, her expression pure triumph, and before John knows it he’s laughing, and laughing and laughing, and staggering against the countertop to support himself, and laughing and laughing, and sliding slowly down the countertop to the floor, and laughing and laughing with tears streaming down his face, and laughing and hiccuping and giggling and gasping for breath in a pile on the floor.

“Oh, fuck, my abs,” he says, once he’s recovered a little. The others are all standing in a circle around him; Alex is filming on his phone. “You guys, I really needed that.”

“So did I,” says Eliza, once Maria’s managed to swallow her enormous mouthful of cake and Eliza’s stopped laughing long enough to stand upright again.

“Me too,” Alex adds, snapping his phone shut and sliding it into his pocket. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta go figure out how to thoroughly kick all your asses next week.”

“Put that video on the internet,” says Maria, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I want to rewatch it whenever I need to remember what utter absurdity looks like.”

But despite the reminder that they’re all in competition, everyone’s still grinning. They untie their floury aprons and gather their cupcakes before stepping out of the tent and into the soft summer sun. They’re giddy with cognac and laughter, hearts light, and the criticism echoing in the back of John’s head is, at least for now, quiet enough to ignore.


End file.
